


The Devil and the Deep Blue Sky

by lysanatt



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Azkaban, Love, M/M, NOTE: spoiler/trigger warning in end notes, Prisonfic, Romance, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-17
Updated: 2007-08-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 21:18:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1201030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysanatt/pseuds/lysanatt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love is not easy. It is not pleasant, nor quiet, nor calming. Love drives people to act, to burn, to sacrifice and endure, and that is exactly what Lucius has to realise when he finds himself in an Azkaban cell together with an unfairly imprisoned Percy Weasley. His days of impassivity are over when Percy discovers something that makes Lucius long for freedom once more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil and the Deep Blue Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my betas tinamuggi and viverra_libro.

**The Devil and the Deep Blue Sky**

It is but a small sound in the darkness. A muffled sob, hidden in a thin blanket, dirty and ragged. He lies in the dark, trying to sort out the sounds made by another human being, sort them out from the cacophony of noises the old castle contains: mice, their tiny feet scrabbling against the dirty-brown tiles; the wind, shaking the tower, pressing through the holes and cracks in the old, rotten window frames; falling drops from the rain which inevitably find their way through the roof to create little pools of rain water in his cell. He knows all the sounds, having listened to them for years, day and night; the only entertainment he has had.

There is a faceless person hidden in the lack of light. Lucius is staring out into the dark, trying to determine if this is but a ghost of times past, or if there really is someone there. It wouldn't be the first time the guards have amused themselves with tricks and cheap illusions. The noises _sound_ real, but they might not be. He lies there in the dark, wanting to get up, get out of the bed, to touch that other person to see, to feel, if there is a living, breathing human there.

He lies there in the dark, his breath aligning itself with that other person's, as if they were instruments in an orchestra, playing a duet while the rest of the musicians have stopped playing. _Duet for two breathing humans_... Lucius shakes his head. He isn't certain what he is going to think of this, that another person has invaded his privacy; the privacy, the solitude he hates so intensely. He is not certain whether he is going to hate this, or like it. Or if it is nothing but an illusion, played by his own distorted mind or by the similarly distorted guards.

But the presence of... something (whether Lucius is hallucinating or not) is pounding on his laboriously built wall of resigned passivity. It is an ocean of sounds, breath, tears. The rustle of a blanket, the creaking of the cheap bed frame. Little noises for his senses to feed on, hungrily, they sate him, hungry as he is for at least some form of variety, but they are also disturbing him, pulling at his long-dormant curiosity. He lies here in the dark, listening, waiting for the morning to come. Waiting to see who (if any) they have chosen to share his lonely cell and the long hours in this frozen hell.

He lies there in the dark, more and more convinced that someone is in here with him. It frustrates him, as well as disturbs him. He lies there in the dark and realises for the first time that none of what he once was; a courteous, well-brought up pure-blood wizard, holds any meaning any more. In here there is no need for courtesy, no need for polite behaviour. He will not remember it, how it was to be that man: it brings back happier memories: lush dinners, grand parties, kind words spoken to family, his love told in flourish words and bold poetry.

In here, he is not a wizard. He is a waste of time, space and Galleons, the guards have made sure to tell him that repeatedly. Why would it be any different because he suddenly is forced to share a cell with another waste of time, space and Galleons? Why would hell be any different because he is sharing it with someone? Hell doesn't have grades, worse or better. It just _is_.

And Azkaban _is_ hell, Lucius is certain, and hell is not warm. Hell is cold, Arctic. The walls are grey granite, like thick ice, sharp and rough. He cannot remember when he last felt really warm. The small fireplace or the occasional bowl of thin soup is not enough. So very far from enough. The walls, the tiled floor, the air he breathes: they are all but small parts of the iceberg that is Azkaban Prison.

The days are like the tiles. Square, icy, alike; the one so similar to the next that there is no reason to try to tell them apart. They are endless. An eternal parade of desolate hours of loneliness and boredom and freezing cold nights. A couple of years ago (or so he thinks, counting becomes unimportant when one is never going to be let out anyway) they moved him, and he considers himself lucky. From the dank dungeon, with mildew and rats and mould and soft, impenetrable greyness to _this_ : a room on top of one of the prison's tall towers; the battlement hovering hundreds of feet above the rocky ground and the roaring sea. At least he has air and a glimpse of sunlight now.

The morning comes. He has been thinking, sleepless, staring out into thin air, hidden under his inadequate duvet and blanket, trying to keep warm. In the farthest corner of the cell, just below the ceiling, there is a small rectangle of blue. It is framed by the heavy grey granite, coarsely cut and fitted together, as if the walls are reflecting the crudeness of life in prison; the ragged monotony and the lack of everything but the most necessary to uphold a life, to stay breathing. Warmth, food, cleanliness - they come in unexpected waves, sometimes in the form of steaming hot meal with fresh vegetables and large pieces of meat; as a new blanket; as an hour alone in a deserted bathroom, solitude under a long line of showers, empty and cold, a room built of silence and broken white-yellow tiles.

Sometimes warmth is the sun peeking through the tiny window high above the floor, a flicker of golden light moving over dirty-brown quarries. Sometimes the beauty of the screaming blue sky makes him smile, a rare, melancholic smile. He once had a life outside these walls, now it seems so distant, as if it had been nothing but a wonderful daydream. It is all he has left now; the dreams, even though he rarely indulges in them. It is too painful to remember that he once had a life, was valuable to somebody. But they have taken everything away from him. His lover, his wife, his son. His dreams. His house is but a burnt-down ruin, just like the rest of his life.

All he has is the small window and the view to the ever-changing sky above the roaring sea below. That and the person they have forced in here, not even letting them have the dignity of daylight and a polite introduction. But there is a long way from Wiltshire to Azkaban, both in distance and disgrace. And disgraced he is, Lucius, he is aware of that. They just chose to remind him once more by throwing another person at him in the dark.

The wizard in the other bed stirs, obviously he has had _some_ sleep, as opposed to Lucius, who is not used to sleeping next to anyone, not since... no. He won't think of that, of warm arms and soft kisses. Not now. That is his most cherished memory, used only rarely, so as not to wear it out. He banishes the thought, breathing in deeply, trying to forget that he once had a life, happiness. He is watching his new cell mate wake up, passively. As long as he hasn't seen who it is, how can he react?

A young man with flaming red hair pulls the covers from his face in the bed a few feet from his, revealing a pale, tear-streaked face, amazingly blue eyes, blinking against the light and the similarly blue sky. At the sight of Lucius, the eyes widen in fear. Clearly not what the young man had hoped for, sharing a cell with a confirmed Death Eater and enemy of his family. Lucius sighs and tries to hold on to his passivity, because patience will not work in connection with this person.

It is perfect, just perfect. Lucius wrinkles his nose, unable to hold back the disgust he feels. That family... it is mockery, he is certain; it is well known Lucius Malfoy and Arthur Weasley hold a long and well-fed grudge against each other.

The Weasley looks wide-eyed at him, almost scared. 'I...' Weasley tries and fails, hiding his face in the blanket, probably crying again, no wonder. Lucius cried once or twice himself in here, not in front of anyone, of course, only still he cried.

But Lucius has seen enough, tears or no. Percy Weasley. The Minister's lapdog. Remotely better than the rest of the lot. This one has both ambition and sense of what is appropriate. Probably what made him end up here in the first place.

'Mr Weasley,' Lucius drawls. 'Would you kindly refrain from hiding and behave according to your... pedigree.' The boy is a pure-blood after all, and Lucius' words are not a question, they are a command. If the boy is not taught how to behave right this instant, sharing a cell with him for an infinite amount of time will be downright intolerable. If he doesn't learn now, that Azkaban is about keeping strong and survive, he will drag himself under in insanity and drown, just like the many empty-eyed prisoners in the lower levels.

Percy looks up. His eyes are red-rimmed and sad. 'My apologies,' he says, clearly trying to be polite. 'It is a bit of a shock when one is not used to...' Percy's voice fades. He looks like someone close to breaking, his surface of correctness is cracking; pain and hurt and shock seeping through the gaps.

'Yes,' Lucius agrees. 'Azkaban is not my favourite destination either. I suggest we get the best out of what we have. How long are you going to stay?' Lucius converses politely, as if he was asking a guest if he wanted to stay the week-end. He remembers clearly his first day here, how his world seemed to have lost the firm ground, or any connection to reality. Azkaban had seemed like a madhouse and the overwhelming feeling of claustrophobia had been bordering on what Lucius could endure. At least the Dementors had gone, but the disabling, depressing greyness still lingered in the cold cells, almost as if engraved in the dirty walls.

'I don't know. They accused me of... they thought I was in league with the Death Ea-' Suddenly Percy remembers in whose cell he is in. He looks as if he is certain he has offended Lucius, forgetting that Lucius does not have a wand any more. All there is left of Lucius' power is the mark etched into his skin, and it is as if Percy's and his thoughts go the same way; Percy looking anxiously at Lucius' left arm, and he wipes his eyes before he continues. 'That's why they put me in here. I'd like the company, they said.' Percy breathes in, deeply, as if to calm himself but his eyes are still brimming with fear. 

Lucius just shakes his head. Justice in the wizarding world is not logical, nor fair. He knows. He feels it on his body every day, every second he breathes, and why would it be different for someone as insignificant and powerless as Percy Weasley? The Minister clearly needed another scapegoat, and Percy Weasleys come in dozens. 'I see. Nothing has changed outside, then.'

'No,' Percy says. 'I... I didn't think it was like that, not until...'

'Not until the injustice hit you too.' Lucius looks searchingly at Percy for a while, making the insecure young man squirm under his scrutinising gaze. 'Perhaps,' Lucius says kindly, 'we better get the best out of our stay, then?'

Percy lets out a deep sigh, as if he had stopped breathing entirely at the sight of Lucius. 'Thank you,' he says, quietly, but the fear does not leave his eyes.

**\- 0 -**

They hadn't been wrong, the prison guards. As the days go by, Percy's anxieties sink to a bearable level, and Lucius finds out that Mr Percy Weasley is a rather clever young man, not at all like his misguided parents, although not clever enough to stay out of Azkaban Prison. Only Lucius has nothing to blame Percy for in that regard. He is in here with Percy, isn't he?

Slowly they grow used to each other, grow used to each other's habits and noises, and Lucius begins to think living with Percy is close to bearable - even after the stories and news about the end of the war and of the Dark Lord's death and all the gossip have grown old.

As summer goes by, and the pleasant temperatures disappear with the shorter days and the lack of sunlight, life in their small cell becomes harsher. Lucius is used to it, not that he likes it better because of that, but he knows how it is. They move their wooden beds closer to the fireplace, as close as possible without setting the beds afire, and all pieces of available clothes are used as bedspreads, leaving the two men able to sleep without getting entirely frost-bitten.

They never talk much. However, helped by the almost intimate mood which (surprisingly and against all odds) flourishes and grows between them, Percy is informed that Lucius knows his wife and child were killed during the war, just as Lucius is informed that Kingsley Shacklebolt is interested in Percy's case, not convinced Percy has actually done what he was accused of.

It is as if they are dancing a slow dance, recognisable, but strange. In between the decaying walls of the old castle, trust grows. They have nothing to lose, they are incarcerated here indeterminately. It is as if they both try to forget where they come from and who they have been. What they are now; prisoners of Azkaban, makes them equals. So information, even of the most personal kind, become their hobby, their way to entertain, educate and amuse themselves. One piece of information is bought with another, and as November becomes December and the darkness overtakes the prison, they have moved from awkward small-talk and careful avoidance of violating the other's privacy with as much as a wrong glance to the exchange of interesting tidbits. Tidbits like the fact that Percy is rather attracted to Kingsley Shacklebolt and the interesting secret that Lucius had a lover for many years, someone who was not Narcissa.

Slowly they learn to trust each other, Percy asking Lucius' advice in the case he should be able to see Kingsley again, and Lucius does his best (however, with a crooked smile, wondering how he fell this deep) to let Percy in on how to woo and win another man's heart. In fact, Lucius does his best to teach Percy everything he knows - not just about wooing, - since Percy might have the chance to be freed, with Shacklebolt waiting outside. No one is waiting for Lucius. Not any more.

The neutral masks they have kept up are gone too; the pain in Lucius' eyes, when he speaks of the man he loved, is deep, just like the longing in Percy's corn-flower blue eyes when they discuss Auror Shacklebolt. They have long bypassed the embarrassing fact that they sometimes have to strip naked in the other's presence, just as they have finally overcome the humiliating experience of going to the toilet when the toilet is nothing but a bucket behind a curtain in the corner of their cell.

Lucius has come to the realisation that he hasn't anything left to lose. He has nothing. Love, freedom, heir... All gone. There is nothing left Percy can take from him, and in the middle of the bleak nothingness that is his life he also acknowledges he hasn't lost anything by treating Percy kindly (at least compared to the way he'd have preferred to welcome any other member of _that_ family). In fact he has won, just a little. He has found a friend, the most unlikely friend he can think of. But just a friend, that is all Percy is.

Lucius hasn't fallen in love with Percy, even if they both seem to prefer men to women. Even if Percy is beautiful and bright and well brought up - for a Weasley. Lucius isn't even certain he likes Percy much, or how much of this is born from his own loneliness, or Percy's. Only it doesn't matter, and life seems, even if dark, as if there is a flicker of light somewhere in the horizon.

December becomes January, and the winter's first blizzard holds Azkaban Prison hostage for days. It is cold, colder than Lucius has ever experienced in his years as a prisoner, even the guards are shaking and blue-lipped when they serve the unusually generously supplied and well made, burning hot soup twice a day. Even the steaming porridge they get for breakfast has butter in it.

The nights, on the contrary, are bitterly cold. And just as they - the former Death Eater and the young boy - have slipped into a comfortable and amiable fellowship, one night Lucius just holds up the duvet and lets Percy slip under it as well.

It is a blessed warmth Lucius finds in Percy's arms. The cell's chill night air isn't as unpleasant, and they spend most of the day keeping themselves warm, just lying under the blankets. Sometimes they speak, sometimes not, and basically it doesn't matter. What matters is that they both find life a bit more tolerable this way.

In the same way they have exchanged information and secrets, they exchange touches. Lucius might stroke Percy's back for the payment of slender arms around his waist. Percy sighs deeply at the sensation of Lucius, nuzzling his red, slightly messy hair, paying him back with the feeling of a soft breath against his shoulder.

Somehow it feels as if they have both lost something when spring breaks, arriving with sunny days and a reluctant thawing of the snow that covers Azkaban Island. The warmer nights leave them without an excuse for being in the same bed, unless the night is remarkably cold, and as April ends and May leaves their cell remotely pleasant, they each go to their own bed without speaking of what they had done during the cold winter.

But spring also brings other changes. The governor has decided Percy (after a long and rather disturbing, almost threatening, conversation with a certain Auror Shacklebolt) is to work outside their cell.

**\- 0 -**

And Percy goes to work. He is cleaning, taking care of prisoners in the infirmary, he is helping in the kitchen. Every day he brings back a little life to their cell, making their dull hours a bit more interesting. Lucius wonders when, exactly, he begins to find it fascinating that Bellatrix now is entirely lost in her madness, believing herself to be the heiress of Salazar Slytherin, or that Macnair finally died from the pneumonia he got last winter. Even the information that tomorrow's dinner is to be veal and carrots is lighting up life.

One day Percy comes back to their cell, the pale skin flushed with excitement, as if he is bursting to tell whatever juicy bit of story or rumour he has found.

'He isn't dead, Lucius! They have him here, and he has been here for _years_!'

'Have whom?' Lucius sits up, brushing his hair back from the pale face. It has to be someone important, otherwise Percy wouldn't look as if he is ready to have a fit.

'Snape. He's here. They have ordered me to take care of him. He's in that closed part of the dungeons, for the particularly-' Percy stops himself. Lucius looks deadly pale, as if he is close to fainting.

'We are talking about Severus Snape?' Lucius asks. He feels as if his insides have turned into ice, a desperate, overwhelming feeling. 'Professor Snape?'

'Is something wrong, Lucius?' Percy looks at Lucius, worried. He grabs a mug and pours water in it, handing it to Lucius, who takes it with shaking hands, as if it was a glass of Fire-whisky. 'And, yes. Professor Snape.'

'He's not dead?' Lucius asks, his world turning, making him feel dizzy and a bit as if someone just removed the ground from under his feet. Severus... Oh, Salazar! Lucius' heart beats so loudly that it seems like the only sound he can hear: a deep thudding in his mind and ears. The mug slides from his hands and hits the floor with a clattering noise, splashing the remains of the water over the dusty tiles.

'No. He is not well, that much is certain, but I spoke with him, and he recognised that there was someone with him.' Percy mops up the water before he sits down on the bed next to Lucius. 'They threw him in there without as much as a hearing, based only on the testimony from Potter. It seems the Minister allowed it.'

'He is not dead?' Lucius repeats, and for the first time since the day he was told Draco had died in the war, Lucius breaks. It doesn't matter a Weasley sits next to him and sees it, sees his weakness. Nothing matters now, but that one fact. The hidden longings, the memories he has packed away, pushed out of his mind, well up, an avalanche of tenderness and love and sweet words and long nights in Severus' arms. The memories he has cherished, so costly to him, are now shining in his mind, the only times in his life when he felt truly happy. And right this instant Lucius cannot handle it. The shock is too much.

'He's not dead?' he asks once more, desperately, and cannot hold back the tears. 'He's not dead?'

Percy looks at him, as if he has no idea what to do, but manages to find a handkerchief and hands it to Lucius. 'No. I... Lucius, what is the matter?'

Lucius can't answer. He is caught up in the miracle that Severus is here, that Severus isn't dead, that he somehow survived. Lucius _has_ to see him. He is caught up in the fact that there actually - no matter how unlikely this sounds - is a reason for him to pick up the scraps of his life and fight for something. Fight for the man he loves, but thought dead.

'Lucius, please?'

Percy sounds insecure, and the soft hand that slides over Lucius' back, comforting him, is rather surprising. Lucius sobs once, twice, then collects himself with the remarkable force of the manipulative, hard man he once was.

'I loved him.' Lucius doesn't care now who finds out. Percy knows everything, apart from this tiny, overwhelming, utterly important fact, but if Lucius wants Percy's help in this, he is certain he has to be honest. Percy isn't fond of dishonesty, that much Lucius knows. 'I loved him since he was fourteen and I barely eighteen, and I have been with him since. I thought he was dead. You know what they told us.' Lucius looks into Percy's innocent blue eyes, watches them widen in surprise and realisation. 'I loved him. I love him still, and even his death didn't stop me from loving him.' Then Lucius isn't able to speak for a while, the fact that he might see his lover again is too much, more than he can bear.

'You... Snape was your lover, the man you told me about?' Percy asks, his eyes wide and blue like the summer sky. He obviously wants confirmation, even though Lucius' tears and the deep emotion in his eyes confirm it as clearly as it can be.

'Yes.' Lucius nods, and suddenly they are embracing each other, Percy and he, sharing the sliver of happiness they are offered in the middle of this desolate, cold place, sharing it because it is so very rare, that keeping it to oneself simply isn't possible.

'But... that is... fantastic,' Percy grins, his blue eyes sparkling. He doesn't even consider the absurdity of Lucius Malfoy in love with the former Professor, or that Severus Snape is the passionate, loving man Lucius has spoken of.

And Lucius' laughter sparkles too, like stars in the sky, like sunlight, reflected in the blue water of the ocean beneath them. Happiness is the colour of the sky, the vision of birds spiralling towards the sun.

Only happiness is but a fleeting feeling.

**\- 0 -**

'I don't think he...' Percy hesitates. 'He's very ill, Lucius. He took a hex or five too many when they captured him, and it isn't as if the healers here are especially capable.' It has been a week since Percy was transferred to take care of Severus, and every day has been more devastating than the last, slowly adding to the picture of Severus Snape as a broken, ruined man.

Lucius' eyes are sad. Percy's words stab, hurt him deeply. He cannot stand the thought that the man he loves lies alone in a dark cell without other help or care than what Percy provides. 'Is he conscious?' he asks, as his mind tries to wrap itself around the fact that what he for a moment experienced as the happiest moment of his life, slowly is turning into a dark, bitter tragedy; every day his heart is torn out, every day new reports of what torment his beloved Severus suffers in the hands of incompetents and... primitive Mud-bloods.

'No, or rather when he is, he recognises nothing, just... babbles about Dumbledore and werewolves and... well... about you.' Percy stops himself, as if he is considering whether or not to continue what he is saying. 'He seems to believe I am you, most of the time.'

Lucius' eyebrows raise, a flash of something cunning, and at the same time tender, is seen in the grey eyes. 'He believes you to be me?' Lucius asks, a bit disbelievingly. He looks at Percy's red hair and sky-blue eyes, and realises it doesn't matter. If Severus lives in his own made-up world, Percy _is_ Lucius, and that is what Lucius has to use, to at least give his love a bit of happiness until the moment arrives when he can be there himself, in Severus' cell, or better yet: when he has planned and executed their escape from Azkaban.

This is the first time Lucius seriously considers escape. At first, when he was imprisoned he wanted to stay, keeping himself from the Dark Lord. Later... it was too late. Far too soon his wife and child had gone, Severus too, and he had lulled himself into a grey haze of passivity. But now, with Severus alive? Lucius has everything to live for: Severus and he could get a new life together, in another country if needed.

'Can you in some way get in contact with Auror Shacklebolt?' Lucius asks, suddenly wanting things to happen. 'Does he ever come here?' Lucius knows they are not allowed any contact with the outside world, they are not allowed owls or visits, but Shacklebolt is - according to Percy - increasingly annoyed with the fact that Percy is still kept in here, and Percy has once or twice had a guard whispering a message in his ear; a few words of encouragement from the Auror. Maybe words can flow the other way as well?

'I'll try,' Percy says. 'What do you want me to say to him?'

'He is going to plan our escape. Yours, mine, Severus'. I'd rather die trying, together with my lover than stay in here, knowing no one will do anything for my... for Severus.' Lucius means every word. He has always been a ruthless man, only three people in the world have ever made him think he would rather sacrifice himself than to see them dead. Two of them have already gone. Now Lucius wants to use his considerable plotting skills to get out of here, for the first time in years he has a reason to live another day. Live to see Severus and himself free and healthy and very, very far away from Azkaban Prison. 'I want you to ask Shacklebolt to find a way to visit you, here, in our cell. Until then, we plan. We will have a plan ready, Percy, if you are willing?'

Percy is quiet for a little, as if he needs to calculate and add and count before he answers. 'Yes,' he says. 'I don't believe they are going to let me out, it is just as with that fool, Shunpike, they _will_ forget I'm here, and when the time comes for my release, they will just conveniently have thrown away the key.'

Lucius looks proud. Oh, he has indeed taught Percy well, the young pure-blood has definitely turned into a realist. Lucius smiles softly. This was how his son could have been, so clever and fast-thinking and, yes, without any illusions of what is going on behind the scenes in the wizarding world. 'Very well,' he says, 'we'll be out of here in no time.' Lucius cannot believe he hasn't decided to do so before, only he has never had the opportunity which Shacklebolt provides, nor the incentive Severus' presence gives.

'What should I do with Professor Snape?' Percy asks, 'he seems so confused, and I would really like to make him feel better if I can. It is just... you know him better...'

'That I do.' Lucius smiles softly. Yes, he knows Severus so well, all his little quirks, his temper, his childhood wounds. He knows everything worth knowing: how Severus' cold black eyes alter and shine when they are directed at him; the way Severus looks when he comes; the way he sighs when Lucius tells him he loves him. How he feels when he is asleep, snuggled up as a child in Lucius' arms. How his voice deepens, softens, when words of love and commitment are whispered in Lucius' ear. How his lips are soft and accommodating under Lucius' own.  
Every important thing about Severus Snape Lucius knows.

Lucius hesitates but a moment. 'Come here,' he says, quietly. It is not a command, but a question. This can only be done with Percy's permission, and his cooperation.

Percy looks up, the tone in Lucius' voice is so different, so surprisingly caring that Percy doesn't react until Lucius' lips meet his.

A bit hesitant, Percy opens his mouth to Lucius' kiss. There is a careful nibbling at his lower lip, a few soft kisses before Lucius slides his tongue into Percy's mouth. Percy's mouth tastes differently, not like Severus, but for a moment Lucius forgets that, kissing Percy passionately. Slick tongues stroke and caress, moans are exchanged before they both need to breathe.

For a second Percy is quiet. 'What was that for?' he asks, a bit breathless. 'Not that I mind, but...'

'It is for him.' Lucius' eyes are grey, cloudy, like the sky before rain. 'Give my kisses to him until I can...'

Percy just nods, as if he understands, and Lucius thinks he actually does.

**\- 0 -**

The days go by, just as the summer, and Percy comes back every afternoon, with Severus' scent on his skin, bearing Severus' kisses for his lover. In the daytime, Lucius just lies on his bed, staring at the summer sky, longing for his lover's touch, longing to see him, just once, to hold him in his arms for a moment and see his eyes light up at the sight of Lucius. The longing is a heavy blanket, weighing him down, his mood is bad, and Percy has more than once gone to bed with Lucius' harsh words ringing in his ears.

Later, in the night, Lucius gets up, then slips into Percy's bed, once more comforting him, offering him what is Severus' by right and by the love Lucius holds for him. They both know it; they both know Percy is but a messenger, only he still moans and gives in when Lucius takes him the first time, not wanting to deny his cell mate whatever brief relief it gives him. They both know that Percy thinks of Kingsley when they are together, and Lucius... He just moans Severus' name and comes, buried in Percy's willing body.

They never speak of it. There's no reason to, they are both clever men. Only with a nod when he leaves Percy's narrow bed, Lucius recognises that his young cell mate gives to Severus what Lucius offers, that this strange loving by proxy is still going on, that Percy is keeping Severus happy in his delusion.

Gradually, as August turns September, Severus is a bit better. The care, and maybe the kisses and what other caresses Percy brings, has helped the man recover a bit, and one day Percy comes back, happy, bringing good news.

'He recognised me today! Lucius! He knew I'm Percy! He asked for you.'

'Does he know that...' Lucius wants to ask, but doesn't. He don't want to know if Severus has changed his mind - and his heart.

But Percy steps up to Lucius, pulling him into a deep kiss. 'He said to bring you this. He said to tell you he never stopped loving you.' Percy blushes a bit with the blatant outpouring of feelings that aren't his.

Lucius smiles softly, and that night he makes love to Percy so tenderly. All for Severus. All for him.

**\- 0 -**

Two weeks later, they get an unexpected visitor.

A tall, black man enters their small cell, and Lucius watches as Percy's calm expression alters into that of a little boy who has just been offered a very nice Christmas present. Percy's eyes shine and his smile is brighter than the clear sun, visible through the small window under the ceiling. Lucius recognises Shacklebolt's presence with a measured, cool nod, but Kingsley Shacklebolt is otherwise occupied, since Percy Weasley, former Secretary to the Minister for Magic, forgets himself and everything Lucius has taught him, and embraces Kingsley while he loudly exclaims that he didn't think he would see him again. The surprised smile on Shacklebolt's face tells volumes of what the Auror feels; Percy's feelings are indeed reciprocated, and Lucius sighs. Young love... or not so young, Kingsley is almost his own age, but that doesn't matter to Percy, it seems.

'Shacklebolt,' Lucius just drawls and sits down on his bed. 'You received our message, I believe?'

'Yes,' Kingsley replies coolly, and sits down on Percy's bed, casually letting his arm stay around Percy's shoulder. 'It took me a little to figure out what you wanted. Only when Harry mentioned Sirius once called Snape your lapdog, I figured out what it meant. Snape is hidden in here, isn't he?' The tall Auror slides a hand over his bald head, sighing. 'It is going to complicate things,' he says when Lucius nods. 'Getting the two of you out... that's doable. But Severus? It is going to be a problem. Where is he?'

'In the dungeons,' Percy interrupts. 'I know the charms for the wards, only I need a wand to open them. I can get him out. But it has to be soon, Kingsley. He is not well.'

'Hmm,' Kingsley says, 'if you can do that...'

'I can,' Percy says. 'I don't want to leave him here. It is a miscarriage of justice!' Percy is outraged by the fact that wizarding law is... flexible, depending on the witch or wizard judged by it. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes angry.

'Everything in here is a miscarriage of justice. Why do you think I risk my job and my freedom to help a former Death Eater?' Kingsley's black eyes are directed at Lucius. They are hard, cold. 'I know what you are, Malfoy,' he says, disgusted. 'But not even you deserve to be in here under these circumstances, even though you are a ruthless devil. You have been kind to Percy and it makes me believe you might even have a small human streak in that snake-brain of yours.' Kingsley leans forward. 'Snape and Percy... they are both innocent. They shouldn't be here, and I cannot help them out without your help. I want you to swear on one thing, though, or the whole thing is off.'

As it is Lucius is willing to swear that he will sell his dead mother's body for potions ingredients, as long as it gets Severus and he out of Azkaban Prison. Also, he understands Shacklebolt's concerns, Lucius was never a naive man. He nods. 'I'll swear. I'll make an unbreakable vow, if you want me to. Just get us out of here.' Lucius shudders as a tiny brown rat scurries over the floor, obviously disturbed in whatever task the small creature has had in their cell.

'Then swear to me,' Kingsley says, 'that you will not engage in any form of revolutionary pure-blood activities. Swear that you and Severus and Percy leave England and never come back. Swear that you'll take your Galleons and live quietly in Bulgaria or somewhere where there is no chance they'll send you back.'

'But...' Percy looks horrified. 'Kingsley?'

Kingsley turns his head and smiles. That moment Lucius recognises what is going on between Percy and Kingsley, even before they know it themselves. He has seen that look between people before. He knows it. He knows where it leads. He sighs at the memory. This is how he looked at Severus the moment he realised he had fallen in love, the moment he _knew_ his life would be empty without the sour, ugly boy in it. Oh, Lucius recognises it. Kingsley is done for, even if the man hasn't realised it yet. Percy has already admitted to Lucius that he is attracted to Kingsley, so this is a done deal, Lucius has no doubt.

'I'll come with you, Percy.' Kingsley says, and confirms what Lucius has seen. 'I'll be there. If I can, I'll return to London and lead the investigation of your escape in another direction. But I'll come.'

Kingsley strokes Percy's hand, calming him, and Percy's relief is audible; he lets out a deep satisfied sigh, and the smile he sends Lucius is dazzling.

'Now, Malfoy, promise me you'll do as I say,' Kingsley repeats. 'Bulgaria.'

'Afraid I'll resurrect the Dark Lord?' Lucius drawls. 'The wizard who killed my wife? I think not.' He nods. 'I swear, Shacklebolt. I'll retreat to Bulgaria. Nothing can be worse than this hell-hole.'

'Very well. Now listen...' Kingsley pulls off his golden earring and, as it rests in the palm of his hand; a small hollow golden sun, he whispers a charm and the earring turns into a battered old wand, chipped and almost broken: 19", willow, and very flexible. 'My first wand,' Kingsley says. 'It is too old for anyone to be able to trace, it is not an Ollivander, or anything fancy. Now I just hope one of you can use it without too much interference, if it is as Ollivander always said; the wand chooses the wizard, I doubt it would choose you, no offence,' Kingsley says, 'you are not exactly my type, Malfoy.'

Lucius suddenly grins. 'Rest assured you aren't mine, either. But I think lifting a couple of wards can be done, even with the most abysmal of wands.'

'You better practise before we go ahead.' Kingsley's face is serious. 'So at least one of you can use it properly. But be careful no one traces the magic. This is probably the only chance you'll get; if you're discovered, they'll get me too, and you'll never be allowed a visitor again.' The tall, black man stands. 'We are doing this a week from now, in the middle of the day, because that is when they least expect it. Do not try to get out before then, because even if it might get you out of this cell, you have nowhere to go, you cannot Disapparate, there is no Floo connection, you'll just be able to run loose inside the castle. Practise to see if the wand works, but only when you are certain there are no guards even remotely close by.'

Lucius just nods. Kingsley Shacklebolt is, if nothing else, a very capable Auror, and Lucius has no problem following his lead in this.

'Midday, a week from now, you'll be on top of this tower, and that includes Severus. Everybody will be busy having lunch and changing the guard. I'll fly over their wards, bringing brooms for the three of you, fast brooms. We might have to race our way out, so be prepared for a rough ride. If Snape isn't well enough, you'll have to take him, Malfoy.'

'All right.' Lucius agrees with the plan. It is daring but simple, usually the best way to make things happen, doing the unexpected. He pulls a scrap of parchment and an old quill close and scribbles something on the paper before he hands it to Shacklebolt. 'You can withdraw what you like from this account. Get the newest, the fastest brooms Galleons can buy. Get a house ready for us in Bulgaria, comfortable. Whatever is left is yours, Shacklebolt. Yours and Percy's.' Lucius knows he has just given the Auror access to half his fortune, but he has more money than he can ever use, and he has no heir. Maybe he will never get one again, because this time he will not taint Severus or taint their relationship with the presence of a wife. Not without Severus' acceptance, at least. But there will still be more than enough left of his Galleons for several heirs.

This time it is Kingsley who nods. 'I'll make certain to get the best. My freedom is at stake here as well.' A smile flickers on his lips as he looks at Percy. 'And Percy's.'

**\- 0 -**

Above him, in the farthest corner in the cell, through the small, square window, there are stars glittering on the dark September sky. The darkness is vast, so very deep. He ponders about the universe and the way things shift so quickly; from light to darkness, from grey, sad days to blue sky and light and sun. He has had his part of the darkness now, but just as the tiny silver stars, glittering in the void, it is a darkness which will disappear, give way for the sun to rise. A few more days in the darkness, and his life will be shining and sunny, he will be with the man he loves. Have the life he always wanted but didn't dare reach out to take, not until it was too late, not until he had realised that everything could be lost in the ray of green light, or with the stroke of a minister's pen.

He realises that hesitating for a moment can make everything fall apart, tear worlds asunder. He will not let that happen again. He swings his legs over the bedside, feet on the cold tiles. 'Percy! Percy?' He reaches out and shakes his young cell mate awake.

'Lucius... what?' Percy's voice is slurred from sleep, but he sits up, trying to find out why Lucius has woken them up at this ungodly hour.

'I want to see Severus... now.' Lucius realises he sounds like a petulant child. 'I want to make sure we can get him out. We need to be certain our plan works.' It is partly true. But Lucius is also driven by the need to hold Severus in his arms, to hear the beloved voice, to feel the pale skin under his hands, to map out Severus' beauty; a beauty hidden in angry glares and behind a gaunt, less than pretty, face. 'Please, Percy? Can we try to go down there, make sure we can go through their wards?'

Percy doesn't reply, just gets out of bed. If anyone does, he knows about the longing for someone who isn't there, for someone one has, but cannot have. He drags his uniform on, quickly. 'Let's go. We have to find out if we can get all the way anyhow.'

They sneak quietly out the cell door. The wand works remarkably well, with just a minor incident of stray magic when Lucius tries to use it. However, it works when Percy is the one to pronounce the spells and, as Percy had been paying attention, he has all the wards down without problems. There are things to be said about attentive, clever young men, and right now, Lucius appreciates his friend's almost anal obsession with detail.

Azkaban is like any other place: the night is quiet, and the guards tired. They only see one, doing his round, and they hide in the shadows. The guard clearly doesn't expect anyone, at least no prisoners, to be where they are not supposed to. Slowly Lucius and Percy work their way to the basement, to the secret cell that holds former professor Severus Snape.

'I'll just stay out here,' Percy says. 'I... You want to be alone with him.'

'Thank you.' Lucius just gives Percy's shoulder a squeeze. They have been living together for so long, the understanding between them, of the other's needs, does not have to be vocalised.

Then Percy takes down the final ward, unlocks the cell door and Lucius quietly slips inside, to see the man he has loved for so many years, the man he believed dead, but who was never dead in his heart.

'Severus, Severus, are you awake?' Lucius moves in the dark cell, guided by the faint light of the embers of the dying fire. At least they have allowed Severus that; warmth and light. Or maybe it is Percy's doing, Lucius doesn't think anyone takes any particular pleasure in making Albus Dumbledore's murderer comfortable.

'Is that you, Percy,' a dark voice replies. 'Isn't it the middle of the night, why are you here?'

'Severus, it is I, Lucius!' Lucius finds Severus' bed in the dark, kneels beside it, able to, for the first time in many years, to touch his lover. 'Severus... gods, Severus!'

Then they are in each others' arms, thin body against thin body; in the darkness they can feel cheeks become damp from tears, their embrace is almost desperate.

'Lucius... I never thought...'

'They told me you died... that I'd never see you again. Love... I never believed I could love like...'

Lucius can feel Severus' lips form a smile. 'Neither did I,' Severus says. 'But you even sent Percy to...'

'Yes. Just the trace of your scent on his skin-'

'I know.'

For a while there are no more words, just clothes strewn over the floor and warm bodies aligning, conforming, in the most pleasant way, a homecoming of sorts; familiar body against familiar body. It feels so safe, so well known, then yet not. Lucius is much thinner than he was before Azkaban, and Severus' legs don't respond to his will, not by much, at least. But they manage, they still know each other's bodies so well; know that a kiss here, or a touch there, pushes the other closer to climax or makes the other moan, longing for the release they finally are able to give each other.

Their being together is a strange mix of tears and moans and bitter-sweet pleasure; two almost ruined men. Only their kisses and touches and the sliding of hardness into a soft, tight body remind them they were once young; remind them love has no age, that it never expires. Reminds them that love can burn and flare forever.

Lucius feels as if his body sings with joy, Severus' arms tightly wound around him as he takes his lover slowly, cherishing every kiss, every movement. Finally it is too much, the joy, the sensations, and they come, almost together too, hiding their cries with kisses.

Afterwards, they don't move, just lie there, calmly, sharing kisses and the sensation of skin against skin. 'I'll never leave you again,' Lucius says. 'I cannot live without you.'

'You have to. It is too risky, this.' Severus' voice is a bit sad.

'We are going to escape. Shacklebolt planned it,' Lucius says. 'I am not leaving without you.'

'My legs,' Severus sighs. 'I cannot move very well. My body... it is damaged. I'll just be a danger to the plan. Percy told me all about it.' Severus brushes a hand over Lucius' cheek. 'I'll be happy to know you are gone, that you don't have to have the rest of your life ruined in here.'

'No!' Lucius' voice breaks. 'I am taking you, no matter what. It will kill me to leave you.'

'Be sensible, love.' Severus kisses him. 'If we are caught we will never get a chance again. Maybe you can try to get me out later, work from outside?'

'Oh no, my love.' Lucius shakes his head, unseen in the dark. 'I am not that stupid. You are coming with us, no matter if you want to or not.' Lucius kisses Severus on the nose. 'You always were a closet Gryffindor, with all the untimely saving of the world. It has to end, it is positively disgusting! You are mine, and I want _you_ , not your bloody sacrifices.'

Severus doesn't reply, just reaches for Lucius and kisses him again, a deep, possessive kiss that goes on for an eternity, then another, and another, until Lucius has forgotten where they are - and everything else but the fact that he is holds his lover in his arms.

Then they are disturbed by a soft knocking on the door, and Percy peeks in. 'Lucius? You better get out now, the sun is rising.'

Reluctantly, Lucius releases himself from Severus' embrace. One final kiss, one final look into the soft black eyes almost makes him break, and a clear tear runs down his cheek.

Severus brushes it away. 'I love you,' he whispers. 'I have never loved anyone but you, and I will love you forever. Forever, Lucius.'

'Forever,' Lucius whispers back, and they both know it is a promise. 'I'll come for you. I'll come.'

He leaves the cell with the taste of Severus on his lips, the warmth of his lover's body still lingering in his bones.

**\- 0 -**

For a few days, Lucius is happy. He has the most delicious memories to feast on, the feeling of Severus, the sound of his voice, the vow they made. But Severus' fragile body, and his weakness, frighten Lucius too. It grates in his mind, consistently, between the memories of pleasure and kisses.

Somehow he already knows when Percy, three days later, returns to their cell, devastation and anger and sorrow painted as an ugly mask on his face. Lucius knows, even before Percy has pronounced the words, made it real by speaking them.

'He's dead,' Lucius just says. 'He wanted to, I realise that now.'

'He wanted to see you, just once. He was happy when he went away. He was so weak, in so much pain.' Percy's blue eyes turn glazed, brimming with tears and compassion. Quietly he hands Lucius a small lock of black hair, bound with something which seems to be torn from a piece of black fabric. 'They buried him at sea,' Percy says and leaves the lock in Lucius' palm.

Outside the rain is pouring, and Lucius just leans back, lies down in his bed, staring out the tiny window just below the ceiling. The blue sky has gone, grey clouds make the cell darken, and just as the rain pours down silently outside, Lucius' tears make their way down his cheeks, wetting the pillow. He doesn't notice. There is no reason to. He has nothing left in this world. Nothing.

The silence is eternal. Lucius doesn't speak, Percy doesn't try to make him, he just lets Lucius mourn. He places food in front of Lucius' bed three times a day, and three times a day Lucius just pushes it away.

Autumn is baring its teeth. The sky and the ocean roar with thunder and lightning, the waves pound against the ancient castle, leaving hills of sea-weed and dead fish on the rocks below. Four days have gone by, and Percy seems worried, even if the storm has died and the high, blue autumn sky is clear and without as much as a cloud in sight.

'Lucius, you have to get up and eat. Or at least speak to me. Kingsley... we have to fly for a long time, and you need your strength.' Percy sits down next to Lucius, pulling his arm slightly. A bit surprising how bossy and daring the insecure Percy Weasley has grown during their stay, Lucius thinks. He is well prepared for the outside world, Percy. He's rich now, with what will be left of the Galleons Lucius gave Shacklebolt, he has a powerful, resourceful soon-to-be lover waiting outside. Percy will be happy, Lucius is certain.

Life pours back in Lucius' eyes. The dull greyness disappears, and the old Lucius is back, the competent, able wizard. 'Don't worry,' he tells Percy. 'I'll be ready.' Slowly he sits up, pushing the thin dirty-brown blanket away. It takes all his will-power, all the energy he has left, to do it. He has to. For Percy, for the happiness he can have. As Lucius takes the tin bowl and begins wolfing down the soup in it, he wonders how it came to this: Lucius Malfoy ending up as an altruistic man, doing things for others. Somehow it doesn't matter. All there is left is only the loss of his beloved, nothing else holds any meaning or significance. What he manages to do, he does for Severus - and for Percy.

Mechanically he gets up, gets washed, even brushes his hair until it falls in shining waves around his face. He braids it loosely and uses a couple of threads from the threadbare prison uniform to secure the braid properly. He is ready. Now they just have to wait for the midday bell to strike, then quickly make it from their cell to the top of the tower. It is an easy escape, only Lucius would rather it had been harder; a dangerous expedition to the dungeons, to help Severus escape with them.

Now, they just quietly leave the cell, making the beds look like wizards are still lying in them, and lock and ward the door before they run up the steep ladder that leads to the tower's roof.

It is a beautiful day. Lucius looks into the sky, confident the guards are busy whatever guards are doing at this hour, he is sure Kingsley Shacklebolt has done his research well. Far away, a small silhouette grows larger with immense speed, Kingsley clearly has got his hands on some very fine brooms.

'Percy,' Lucius says, 'this is it. Be careful.' _Be happy_ , Lucius wants to say, but doesn't.

Percy nods solemnly. 'Thank you. Thank you for...' He pauses, moved by the moment and the unspoken words. Then he hugs Lucius in a surprising display of affection, and Lucius is certain he wouldn't have objected if Draco had turned out like this one-of-a-kind Weasley.

Then they step up to the edge of the tower, ready to grab the brooms Kingsley carries for them.

A second, and Shacklebolt is there, returning two brand new Firebolts - just like the one he is riding himself - to their normal size. Percy mounts his broom immediately, pushing away from the tower.

Against the tall summer sky, Percy and Kingsley hover, small black dots against the golden sun.

Lucius takes his broom, stepping up on the tower's balustrade.

'Come on,' Percy urges. 'Lucius, come _on_!'

A riderless broom whirls from the tower. It turns, spins on its way down, until it is finally ripped apart in thousands of little pieces against the sharp teeth of the cliffs far below the tower's top.

The sky has never looked more clear than this moment, Lucius thinks, without the window frame of grey stones and despair. He feels a wild joy well up inside him and reaches out for something - someone - only he can see.

'Severus-' he whispers softly, and takes a step out into the empty space between the deep blue sky and the rocks and the roaring sea below.

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: suicide.


End file.
